Sometimes the McDonalds Ain't Such a Bad Idea...

I'm traveling with co-workers in Seattle. None of us are from Seattle and so when lunch rolled around we asked the receptionist where we might find some restaurants. She was most unhelpful in terms of recommendations and so we were on our own. To further illustrate how retarded we all are, we were in separate cars since we all had to go different directions after lunch. So our mini convoy headed out, weaving in and out of shopping malls, randomly calling each other on our cell phones.

"What about that?"
"Meh, let's hit the next strip mall."
"I don't care if it's McDonalds, I'm starving."
"Oh for the love of God just park the car."

And so it went on for 4 or 5 strip malls until someone finally parked and we were presented with two options - a sushi place and a Chinese restaurant. They wanted sushi, I am not supposed to eat sushi in my current state (or more specifically I won't eat sushi in a strip mall). So on we went to the Zen Garden.

The entire menu was pictures of Dim Sum and it seemed to favor chicken feet and other equally appealing things. On the upside there was a perpetually waving cat at the reception desk (like this). They advertise on the website that there is a "Breaktaking Garden". Indeed.

Unfortunately the food was bland and made me feel a bit ill. But it was worth it to watch the pained expression of my one co-worker (a self professed "American Eater") attempt to stuff this crap down his throat. We laughed at him and made jokes about how he was going to make a bee line for McDonalds on his way to his next meeting. He said we were wrong, he planned to check out the vending machine in the office. Nothing a bag of Cheetos can't fix.

So if you find yourself north of Seattle, avoid the Zen Garden, unless of course you want a pork fried dumpling that tastes suspiciously like a Philly cheesesteak and some fried chicken feet...

Hey You, Big Girl...

There was a period of time when I was first pregnant where I didn't look pregnant, I just looked fat. You're sort of bloated and your pants don't fit and you're generally uncomfortable. If you're lucky like me you develop acne and just look gross. It's during this phase that you long for the day that you no longer look like a cow and begin to resemble a cute pregnant lady (even one with acne).

However, in keeping with my fantastic luck, I am now entering my third trimester and people still tell me I don't really look pregnant. Some people don't even notice. You're probably thinking this is a good thing. It's not. I'm carrying low and wide. This kid has spread out and made "her-ish" self at home - socking weight on me in places I didn't know I could gain weight. As one of my co-workers pointed out, "you just look bigger all over, not really pregnant". Delightful.

My husband swears I look pregnant. Probably because he has a faint recollection of what my ass looked like before this happened. But all this whining is not the point of my post. My real problem is the fat girls...

A few years ago, my friend from NYC was telling us this story about a guy she knew. They were in a bar and he was trying to point out a girl across the bar and in his description he said "the one with the peach belt". As it turns out this girl was in fact not wearing a peach belt but instead was just letting the goods hang out over her pants. At a distance it looked like a peach colored belt. There are many names for this phenomena - the "dunlop" (when you stomach done lop over your pants), a Muffin Top, FUPA (we won't elaborate on that one) or the classic - Love Handles.

In addition to low rise pants, it also seems to me that younger women are woefully flabby in the mid section. I see teenage girls wandering around with their guts hanging over the pants like a middle aged trailer dweller whose had 5 kids. What's up with that? Is there no shame left in this world? Don't their mothers tell them to get back in the house and cover that up? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You see them coming, belly jiggling like a bowl full of jello under their witty vintage t-shirt.

So while I found this trend among young girls offensive and sad, it really had nothing to do with me...until now.

The last several seasons flowy shirts have been in style and it seems that every fat chick has finally covered up the muffin top. Good for them, bad for me. Now I just look like every other fat girl hiding under a flowy top. At first I was pissed and thought to myself, "There's a lot of fat chicks out there stealing my thunder". Then I started to think about the upside to this situation.

- I can still get a glass of wine in a bar without people giving me the evil eye.
- I still get leered at on the street by men because they don't realize I'm knocked up (sure they may be fatty lovers, but I'll take what I can get these days).
- I can order a latte without being judged by the barista.
- I can still buy shirts in the non-maternity store since nothing is fitted these days.

However on the down side,

- No one goes out of their way to offer to help me with stuff.
- Strangers don't offer their seats to me.
- I don't get those looks from other women that say, "oh look, she's pregnant, how cute".

Like I said, stealing my thunder.... Makes me want to run out and buy one of those awful t-shirts that says something like, "Knocked-Up" with a giant arrow pointing down. Or better yet, I'll adopt a waddle and start clutching my stomach.

Or perhaps we can all make pregnant women everywhere happier - Next time you see a girl in a floaty top, ask her when she's due. We'll see how long she keeps stuffing her muffin into my clothes!

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

It's Friday night and my other half is somewhere in Germany for wedding festivities.  I on the other hand decided I would stay home so I didn't have to sit on a plane for 8 hours.  Don't feel bad for me, I've done several very exciting things this evening.  I microwaved dinner, I changed the roll of toilet paper, I did laundry, opened mail and I washed my flip flops.  

I'll bet you're asking yourself, "Gee, why would she be washing her flip flops?".  

Good question. I'll explain.

This morning I decided that I needed a pedicure so I went on the hunt for my flip flops.  Of course I have several pair, but only one that I really like.  I found them tied up in a plastic bag tossed in the bottom of my closet.  I thought that was odd until I remembered that my husband had picked them off the back porch of the beach house 2 weeks ago and thrown them in the bag for transport home.

Of course he did some sort of super duper quadruple knot in the plastic bag so that they couldn't possibly leave any dirt in the car.  All good, except for the fact that they were wet when they went into the bag.  

So at lunch time as I was getting ready to go see a daycare I thought I would put on the flip flops to walk the 8 blocks.  That is when I opened the bag and nearly died.  I do not know what happens to foam and nylon when you leave it damp in airtight plastic for 14 days but it was not good.  At first I couldn't comprehend what was creating such an awful stench.  Then I lifted a lone flip flop to my nose and sniffed.  Dear lord in heaven that is nasty.  I threw the whole mess back into the plastic bag, resealed it with several knots and proceeded to take a cab.

Sometimes boys don't think about these things.... 

I would also like to point out that I still need a pedicure.  

Ode to the Tamarind

This is awesome. Of all the people I've insulted over the years, this is certainly the most ridiculous. Some of you may recall a post of mine back in April about the time my husband dragged me to the Aldi when we were first living together.

This morning as I was enjoying my morning coffee (with caffeine, I don't care what you say about me) I looked in my email and found that some offended Spanish person had commented on this post.

"Offended Spanish Person said...
Typical white people. spicy latin foods make you instinctively go yuck!

Tamarind is a fruit. It is grown in pods, similar ot beans, and is popular in latin areas liek the carribbean and central/south america and southeast asia.

It's amazing how something can be popular in more than half the globe and white people have no idea it exists,now you know how we feel about bland, flavorless foods like wonderbread that you people seem to LOVE.

P.S. If you had been less lazy and maybe read the packaging you wouldn't have bought them. How hard is it to notice in big letters FRUTAS ENCHILADAS: aka fruits IN CHILIS!""

Yes, that's me. Just your typical Wonder Bread eating white person. My mother might have an aneurysm if she read that. Call her a progressive hippie tree hugger, but don't ever say she fed her children Wonder Bread. She would sooner die than feed us bread that was softer than a paving stone!

So I would like to respond to this poor offended Spanish person.

Dear Offended Spanish Person,
Please accept my heartfelt apologies. I in no way intended to offend the tamarind fruit or the culinary palate of "half the globe". I can certainly commiserate with your disdain for Wonder Bread. Perhaps you should also put Marshmallow Fluff and hydrogenated peanut butter on that list of bad food of the white man. Hell, I might also suggest adding - Hamburger Helper, Kraft Mac-N-Cheese and a helping of SPAM for good measure.

Indeed, it appears I was a bit lazy in not carefully inspecting the packaging. Certainly this product was in it's primary market. (I'm certain that neighborhood consumes tamarind by the truckload.) Clearly it was an error on my part to assume that I would find sugary sweet delight in the Jolly Rancher bag.

And finally, I must apologize for my lack of sarcasm and poor writing skills in the aforementioned post. Quiet honestly I could give a shit about the Tamarind or the chili lollipops. The real intention was to poke fun of my husband and his love of all things German. Clearly I missed the mark. I am shamed to admit that my humor must have been overcome by my vicious "instinctive white people hate" of Latin food.

Hallelujah! It's like uncovering childhood abuse through hypnotic therapy. Who knew I had such a fondness for squishy delightful white bread. Your comment on my post has opened up a whole new world to me. I think I'll go make myself a fluffer nutter right now.

I do hope you can forgive me and I think I speak on behalf of all white people everywhere when I tell you that we mean no harm to your "fuit, grown in pods, similar to beans". We just can't help ourselves, we're culturally stunted by consumer products and our oppressive parents.

Sincerely,
An Enlightened White Person

Classes with the Huddled Masses

With me forgetting everything these days I didn't mention the most retarded thing that happened all week. As I said previously, I'm now in planner mode. So I emailed the hospital about an updated list of birth classes. Apparently I will be a bad parent unless I sign myself and husband up for some classes.

I honestly believe these classes are for the truly stupid and inept so I asked around the office to see what the general opinion was. One co-worker said, "you won't learn anything but at least you'll get to laugh at all the stupid people around you." Fantastic - 8 hours with people who shouldn't be allowed to walk on the streets let alone birth children. Totally my idea of a fun Saturday.

Regardless, I signed up for most of the classes they offered (to the tune of several hundred dollars. Have I mentioned that I need to get into the baby business in some way, shape or form? This crap is a worse rip off than the bridal industry...). So throughout the month of November, we will be learning about our pain management choices, touring the hospital, getting a CD of soothing sounds, learning to breastfeed and I will be re-learning infant CPR. I did pass on the remedial diapering class. Even I have my limits...

So back to my original point - I got a confirmation email from this woman in the hospital who runs the programs and her closing read, "Have a nice Labor Day weekend and happy gestating!".

Happy gestating indeed....freak.

We're off to enjoy the needle strewn shore of New Jersey this weekend. Have a great Labor Day and remember, if you're gestating, be happy.

What do my Child and Buffalo Bill have in Common?

It's a lazy Friday before a holiday weekend and I'm presently enjoying my couch.  I realized last weekend that this whole baby thing is moving much more quickly than I anticipated.  It's really quite unfair.  Basically I spent the first 16-20 weeks feeling sick.  Then I finally started to feel human again and all I wanted to do was go back to my life.  So I did and after a few weeks I started to realize that I have about 8 weeks of feeling human before I start to feel like the Goodyear blimp.  I think I'm in my 23rd week and I'm still pretty small.  Although I'm not lucky, so I suspect this reprieve is short lived.  So I resigned myself to the fact that I needed to get my ass in gear and actually plan for this poor baby girl/boy.

(btw - with all the modern technology available, they still couldn't really tell me for sure if this child is a boy or a girl.  The kid wouldn't give up the goods during the anatomy scan so while it looks "girl-ish" it could be a boy pulling a Silence of the Lambs Buffalo Bill kind of thing.  Fast forward to 3:00 if you're cinematically stunted.  And no, I'm not suggesting our child will be a transvestite with body piercings.  Did anyone else realize this chick is the one on ER now?  I digress...)

Well, I'm nothing if not a planner.  So I've started hitting up my friends at a frenetic pace. Anyone that has birthed a child in the last 2 years has gotten a phone call.  As a female we all talk about things that would probably horrify most men however pregnancy brings out a special brand of gross conversation.  For instance, my college roommate and I had an entire conversation about the merits of the hooter hider and something called Soothies which are apparently little silicon things you put on your nipples.  (In case you're wondering, I have decided we were significantly cooler when we used to get drunk in the shower before parties, stay out all night and then sleep all day.)  

Then a similar conversation with my old co-worker about breast pumps and under stroller baskets .  (Again....much cooler when we got drunk and went swimming half naked in a hotel pool.)

Last weekend and a few late nights this week produced a registry.  (PS - My wedding registry was about 1 million times more fun than this.  Selecting cookware is far cooler than organic onesies.) The resident expert, aka my mother, has decided that everything I've selected is far too expensive.  Apparently many people have experienced a similar phenomena.  

One of my co-workers tells me that his mother also came out of her time warp from the 70's to tell him that he and his wife were spending too much money and tried to sell them on the merits of an old umbrella stroller.  I sincerely believe my mother thinks I should be able to raise this child with an old playpen, a few onesies and a wooden spoon to beat them with when they get out of line.   She talks a good game but I see where this is going.  You see, it won't matter how much things cost when she's the one buying them for her grandchild.  I suspect this is only the start of a double standard that applies to grandparents the world over.

 

Today my big plan is to find a crib that will probably cost too much and visit a daycare that likely doesn't have space for our little Buffalo Bill... wish me luck.

Baby Stores Stink

Yesterday, for lack of anything better to do, we made the trip to Babies R Us.  At the end of the day I will end up deciding on all this crap and registering without ever setting foot in a store.  However, husband likes to have a say in all this stuff so I figured I could take him to the store, have him push a few strollers around and then we would go home.  In classic fashion he got there and ran away.  I found him standing in the baby monitor aisle.  He was looking glassy eyed at something called Baby TV. I reminded him that we have 1,100 square feet.

He didn't like any of the strollers. Mainly because none of them were European with a hefty price tag.  We moved to the pack and play aisle.  He looked around a little bit and then declared these were ugly and that everything was the color of poop.  I really couldn't argue since everything was in varying shades of brown.

On to cribs.  Husband disappeared again.  I peed for the 4,265th time that day.  I wander around the store to find him in the diaper bag aisle.  The wailing of children is increasing around us.  He says, "Can we please leave?". I say, "Yes, I hate it here."

We drove to Ikea.  Believe it or not, all the Ikea cribs got an A rating in our little book.  I trust those Swedes won't kill our child.  Problem solved.

My Boobs are up Here...

As a female we spend our lives having men stare at our boobs. It's expected that this will happen at least several times a day. Yes, even when you're like me and covered up like a nun.  Lately, despite the fact that my boobs are now huge, people do not stare at them.  All eyes go straight to my mid section.  

I feel weird about people staring at my belly button. 

Please put your eyes back where they belong!

A post about nothing...

I'm aware, I suck.  However, the blame for my lackluster blogging can be squarely laid on my unborn child.  Apparently pregnancy shrinks your brain by 6-8% depending on which website you read.  See!  It's not just me forgetting things, it's a medical condition.

PS: I want to smack the people who told me this was fun.  It's not fun. It sucks.  Not only am I fat now, but apparently becoming more stupid as the days go by.

My lack of creativity means all I can manage is a pile of random crap.  Sorry, that's just how it goes.

I like to watch TV while I eat breakfast.  Before I was "in the family way", I would alternate between news programs.  I have now discovered that reruns of Saved by the Bell are on.  I prefer to watch this.  I think it's an appropriate amount of entertainment for my smaller brain. (You can't really expect me to consume and retain all the fancy informations on BBC World News?)

Speaking of Saved by the Bell...Mark-Paul Gosselaar. New series this fall.  Seriously, I can't be expected to not watch courtroom dramas.  In fact, there are quite a few garbage series this fall that yours truly will be adding to the DVR.  Hello? Christian Slater playing a psychotic - love it. It's sort of like a schizophrenic Dexter.  And a shameful admission - Debra Messing in the Starter Wife series.  Yes, I watched the mini series - shut up.

To take a step lower (and you thought it wasn't possible), I actually went out to YouTube to listen to Miley Cyrus music.  How on earth did I end up at that point you ask?  It all started innocently enough.  I was reading a blog by this psychiatrist who was all worked up over Katy Perry and I thought to myself - "who the hell is Katy Perry?".  (I also thought "Oh dear god, I'm getting old. Why don't I know about this person??")  I read, I listened and I purchased on iTunes. What can I say, it's a catchy little tune.  I still can't understand why everyone is worked up over this chick - didn't Jill Sobule sing about being bi-curious in the 90's?  

Then I started following links to other crap and I ended up wondering what Miley Cyrus actually sounded like. I've heard her speak and she sounds like she lives under a rock somewhere in the deep south. I had high hopes for her music.  (As I mentioned, I am capable of deep thought these days) As it turns out, she kinds of sounds like a man and not in a good way.  If you dare - it may make your ears bleed.

Then I noticed that that the crappy trio known as the Jonas Brothers are the #1 song on iTunes.  Who is out there buying this crap? 12 year olds?  Do they have credit cards? 

I have to go clean my house now.  Thankfully my boss gave me a half day the other day so I'm halfway there.  It's curious, my best hours are between 9-5 these days.  That doesn't bode well for my domestic duties.  So the house is a bon-a-fide disaster and I can't seem to give a crap.  Lucky for me the other half wouldn't notice if he was standing in 3 feet of garbage anyway.  

I Think My Kid May Be Mean

I've been trying not to be an alarmist about this whole pregnancy thing so I haven't called my OB's emergency line yet.  Yesterday I caved and called because I was having these weird pains. Now I know weird pains come with the territory, but these were new weird pains and they sort of hurt so I thought perhaps that was bad.  My husband told of course told me all the bad things it could be and ended with, "It's probably none of those but you should call Dave anyway".

So Dave called me back.

Dave: So all those things I told you that would happen are happening huh?

Me: I don't think you ever mentioned this one.

Dave: What's going on?

Me: I feel like someone is stabbing me in the cervix.

Dave: Yea, that's your baby.

Me: Oh

I can tell this is going to be fun already.